The Secrets of Stars

"Tell me again how he died", Mr. Goodwin said. His voice was subdued, thick with sorrow as he stared out the window across the busy center of Elysium.

Flynn shifted his jaw from side to side as he watched the grey-haired man in front of him. Swallowing to soothe his drying throat, he drew in a slow breath. He tried to picture the story in his mind, watching as it played out, making sure the details were the same as they had been the first time.

"There was a raid," Flynn finally blurted out. One telling of the story had done little to slake his guilt and discomfort. "Some Blood Pack members had got wind of the valuable salvage that we were there to collect. There were only a handful of us in our landing party when we picked up their shuttle signature. We barely had time to secure the salvage before they landed. There were only a few vorcha, but…the krogan." Afraid that his soliloquy sounded too rehearsed, Flynn cast a sideways glance at Dellin. The turian's beak twitched, but he gave an encouraging nod.

Clearing his throat, Flynn continued. "We lost him before we could bring down the krogan. We should have been better armed. I'm…I'm sorry, Mr. Goodwin."

Goodwin nodded, only moving as much as was necessary to lace his fingers behind his back. "The salvage business is hit and miss." He sighed heavily. "Your gear is only as valuable as the scrap you bring in."

Flynn nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Those krogan," Goodwin continued. "Sometimes it seems like they can't be killed."

"Rest assured, Mr. Goodwin," Dell began, taking a small step forward. "This one was."

Goodwin gave a minute nod, still keeping his back to the two visitors. "Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I…appreciate you making the trip here." He finally shifted his gaze from the window as his head began to sink low on his shoulders. "If you'll excuse me…I've got a memorial service to plan."

Flynn and Dell exchanged one more glance before subtly exhaling. "Yes, sir," Flynn said, turning toward the exit. "If you need anything," he mumbled over his shoulder, "You know how to contact me."

Goodwin gave no response, and Flynn trailed Dell's footsteps out the apartment door, feeling relieved as he heard it slide shut with a swish!

"Well, that went better than expected," Dell said, his flanging voice resounding crisply in the metallic hallway.

The pair turned and began plodding toward the building's exit, their boots thudding dully beneath them. Flynn's brow was aching. These creases wouldn't be gone anytime soon. "For the first time I can remember…I can't wait to leave this planet, Dell."

"I know what you mean"

The two men emerged from the apartment complex and stepped onto the crowded sidewalk. Flynn fired up his omni-tool and wasted no time sending out a pulse that would draw the nearest cab. His turian companion folded his arms across the rounded breast-plate of his armor. "Do you think he knew?" Dell asked.

Flynn stared vacantly as a cab slowly descended in front of them, its engine vibrating and humming softly as the hatch lifted open with a hiss. He took one step forward and swiveled his head, staring back at the door he had just emerged from. "For his sake, I hope not."

Dell nodded solemnly.

"Come on. Let's get back to the ship."

Ducking into the cab, Dell shut the door behind him as he slid into the back seat.

After directing the driver to the spaceport, the two companions sat in silence, watching the cars and barges around them navigate the buzzing skies of Elysium. There seemed to be more people than usual flitting around the colony. Flynn watched them as they passed by, catching only fleeting glimpses of their faces. None of them knew him. Not one of them knew he existed at all. He suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat. Reaching out beside him, he pressed his hand against the smooth paneling of the door, breathing deeply as he felt it beneath his palm.

"Dell," he muttered, his voice muted.

"I'm still here, Flynn."

It seemed to take no time at all for Flynn and Dell to reach the spaceport. The two of them remained silent, passing through customs and decontamination without saying a word to one another. As they walked along the newly painted arm of the docking cradle toward the Resolution, Flynn kept his eyes on the metal planking beneath his feet, unconsciously chewing his thumbnail as he went. Ahead of him, Dell was first through the airlock and stopped, patiently waiting for Flynn to enter. As the hatch slid closed behind him, Flynn felt his ears pop as they adjusted to the ship's interior pressure.

With a loud hiss, the airlock door slid open and allowed the pair to enter the old, rickety ship that they called home. As they stepped into the narrow hallway, Dell angled himself to the left toward the cockpit before casting a questioning look at his partner. Keeping his eyes averted, Flynn gave him a nod. Wordlessly, Dell slipped into the pilot's seat and buckled himself in as Flynn turned to the right and headed down the cramped corridor. As he walked, he ran his fingers along the left wall, feeling the texture of the escape pod hatches and relishing the way his fingertips glided over the metallic contours. After just a few yards, he turned to the right once more and ducked into his small cabin, immediately dropping into sitting position atop his thin mattress.

"Elysium control, MSV Resolution. Permission to disengage?" Dell's deep vocals wafted back through the hall. "Thank you," he responded to a voice than Flynn hadn't heard. "We will remain in high orbit for approximately twelve hours…understood."

Despite the inertia dampeners, Flynn could tell they had started moving. The hull vibrated differently. The canned air had a miniscule charge to it, something that would be unnoticeable to anyone that hadn't spent the past eight years living on board. For the millionth time, Flynn wished that his cabin had a window that he could look out of.

With a groan, he stood up and clumsily shed his armor, letting it tumble aimlessly to the floor before returning to his sitting position. For a moment, he pondered paying a visit to the travel compartment that had served as Vance's quarters. Instead, he chose to lean forward and bury his face in his calloused hands, sighing heavily.

The skin on his cheeks was cool to the touch, and his scruffy facial hair scratched noisily against his palms. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and slumped his shoulders. The weight that pressed in upon him was unlike any he had felt before. Even after Acaeda, it hadn't been this exhausting. He'd never faced this situation, and he wished to the heavens that he'd never face it again. One decision was all it had taken. One bad call and Vance was gone.

Flynn's head was growing heavy in his hands. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting in thought, but he suddenly awoke with a start. Had he been asleep? Suddenly, he became aware of Dell standing in his doorway. Flynn jerked his head to the left and looked up at him, his eyebrows raised expectantly. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to keep my ear on the wire. Just in case," Dell said. His voice was monotonous, almost robotic. "You may want to hit your terminal and let Sal know we're resting here."

Trying his best to stifle a yawn, Flynn simply nodded in response. Without another word, Dell disappeared down the hall, presumably to his own cabin.

"Perfect," Flynn muttered to himself. With a quiet groan, he rubbed his face, trying to restore feeling to it. Had Dell awakened him? Or was it the sound of gunfire? Shaking the thought from his head, Flynn scratched his dark, freshly-cut hair and slid to the foot of his bed, powering up his extranet terminal. He wasn't in the mood for a chat, least of all with Sal Swift. A private message would do just fine. Holding his hands above the IR keyboard display, Flynn hammered out a short message.

Sal,

Still at Elysium. Resting for 12. Cargo is secured. Will be there within the next 36.

-F.M.

Nothing more was needed. Sal knew why they had come to Elysium, and Flynn could care less if he had a problem with a twelve hour delay. With a shrug, he sent the message and reclined onto his bed, staring blankly up at the low ceiling. The ship was cool, and Flynn felt very cold as he lay there.

"VIC," he breathed.

VIC, the ships rudimentary Voice Imprinted Controller, buzzed back at him through small speakers in the ceiling. "Yes."

"Raise the temperature, please," Flynn muttered dejectedly. "Seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit."

At once, a light rattle began to issue from the floor vents, signifying that the heat had been turned on. Flynn didn't move at all. As the temperature slowly became more comfortable, he felt his eyelids growing heavier. In the darkness of his room, however, his fading attention was drawn to his storage locker in the corner. Slowly tilting his head to see, he noticed a faint white light spilling out from the slats in the door. There was only one thing that would cause such a phenomenon, and Flynn vaguely wondered why it was glowing again. Before he could put much thought into it, sleep finally took him.

After what seemed like only a moment, his eyes fluttered open again. Without moving, Flynn slowly moistened his chapped lips and waited for his senses to return to him. The ship was eerily silent. No engines, no vent rattling, none of the usual noises. Gritting his teeth, Flynn slowly raised himself up on his mattress, his sore muscles protesting against the movement. As he made his way to the edge of his bed, he remembered something from before he fell asleep. The locker.

His eyes darted over to the corner of his cabin, scanning the tall locker door for a sign of the light he had seen before. There was none. Raising himself up onto his feet, he stepped over his armor and opened the storage locker. Still no light.

Had he imagined it?

Blinking the bleariness from his eyes, Flynn stretched his hand toward the top shelf, standing on his toes so he could reach to the back of it. Wrapping his fingers around the old sock, he pulled it toward him and set his heels back on the floor. The sock was warm, which wasn't unusual. It was always warm when the cone glowed. Unfurling the dusty old garment, Flynn gingerly retrieved the small crystal cone from inside it.

The cone was still as pristine and flawless as the day he had found it. No markings, no texture, just a smooth, conical-shaped crystal. Flynn scrutinized the surface of it, hoping that there would be a clue or an answer where there had never been one before. As always, nothing was revealed to him. With a heavy sigh, he slipped the crystal into the pocket of his thermals and closed the locker door. He needed coffee.

With his senses now attuned to consciousness, Flynn noticed that the ship wasn't quite as silent as he had initially thought. There was a low-pitched static coming from down the hall, but there was also something else. He strained his ears and listened harder. He could hear a faint rattling, a metallic clanking coming from below deck. The ship still seemed cold. Perhaps it was a problem with the ducts, or some other mechanical malfunction. This was not at all uncommon aboard the Resolution.

Flynn pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Perfect."

Stepping over his armor once more, he left the confines of his cabin and entered the hallway, taking only three steps before reaching Dell's quarters. He stopped in the open doorway and raised an eyebrow.

Still wearing his armor, Dell was slumped over his desk, his brown head spikes sticking straight up in the air. His deep breathing made it clear that he was asleep. The low-frequency static was indeed coming from this room. Dell had been scanning the news bands, listening for reports of missing or crashed ships. Flynn looked down at his turian brother and debated simply leaving him be. After a moment, though, he reached across the desk and switched off the news band.

As soon as the sound ceased, Dell snapped upright and practically leapt to his feet, blinking his eyes and wiping errant saliva from his jaw and mandibles. "What?" he snapped. "What's wrong?"

The tone of his voice caused Flynn's eyebrows to pull together. After a moment, however, he simply pointed to floor beneath him. "Listen," he said.

Dell drew in a quick breath and froze in place, listening to the same clanking sound that Flynn had heard.

"What is that?" Flynn asked. "A broken hose?"

Dell shook his head. "No, that's in the hold."

"The hold?" Flynn suddenly sounded uneasy. "You…you don't think…"

"No, I don't think so."

Dell stepped forward and Flynn shifted back a step to allow him into the hallway. The two of them had barely moved forward when VIC's automated voice crackled over the loudspeakers.

"Unauthorized data access in progress."

Dell whipped around and looked down at Flynn. Both of them had instantaneously come to the same conclusion. "One of them is still alive," Flynn said, his eyes wide.

Immediately, both of them broke into a sprint, barreling into the galley where they had laid their weapons. Flynn fumbled on the lounge table for his pistol while Dell scooped up a shotgun on the way to aft stairs. Flynn was less than two steps behind him.

As they clamored down the dimly lit stairwell, he noticed the light emanating from the right pocket of his thermals. The cone was glowing again. Despite this, his concentration needed to be elsewhere at the moment.

Ahead of him, Dell reached the door to the hold and threw himself against the right jamb, waiting for Flynn to take the left. As soon as he was in place, Flynn swallowed hard and gave a nod, feeling cold and clammy from head to toe. As Dell's gloved hand waved the door open, Flynn drew a shallow breath and rushed into the cargo hold, his pistol raised. Dell was right behind him, shotgun leveled and ready.

In the center of the room, a large pile of scorched, mangled parts and machinery lay on the cargo elevator, exactly where it had been left. Dell jogged over to it and began kicking aside pieces with his foot, aiming his shotgun carefully as he searched for movement.

As he watched, Flynn suddenly felt something hard and icy close around his right ankle. Letting out a startled yelp, he whipped his pistol around behind him and fired two shots, both of which went terribly astray. As he fired, whatever had seized his ankle let him go, and Flynn was thrown off balance. With a grunt, he crashed hard to the metal grating that covered the floor, feeling bolts of pain lance violently through him.

Someone was calling his name, but Flynn was in a full-blown panic. He dug his elbows into the grating and hauled himself backward, staring in horror at the geth torso that clawed its way toward him. Flynn kicked frantically at its flashlight-looking head as he tried to slide his body backward. Where was his pistol? It was no longer in his hand. The geth's ice-cold claws clamped around Flynn's legs, causing him to cry out in a high pitched voice that he didn't recognize. Metallic fingers were reaching for his right pocket, silhouetted against the bright white light that burned there.

"DELL!"

Blam!

The shotgun blast ripped into the geth's head and shoulders, showering Flynn with hot sparks as his mechanical assailant exploded from the impact. Practically hyperventilating, Flynn scurried backward on his skinned elbows and scrambling to his feet. He took a few moments to frenetically slap his legs and stomach, making sure none of the sparks would cause any further burns.

Someone was calling his name again, but Flynn's ears were filled only with the roar of blood rushing through his veins. He spun in a circle, locating his pistol and scuttling over to it. Without a second thought, he leveled the weapon at the geth that had attacked him and fired directly into its robotic corpse, squeezing off a dozen rounds before his heat sink began glowing bright red. Panting from the adrenaline that had thundered through his body, he ejected the thermal clip and sank to his knees to catch his breath. He felt colder than ever.

Suddenly, Dell was beside him, placing a three-fingered handed on his shoulder to comfort him. "Are you hurt?" Dell asked, his voice urgent.

Flynn could only shake his head.

"What is that?" Dell pointed to Flynn's pocket, which was still shining as bright as any star.

With his fingers trembling, Flynn reached into his pocket and closed his hand around the crystal, slightly surprised that it wasn't at all hot. Pulling it from his thermals, he held it out for Dell, who recoiled and shielded his eyes.

"Is that your crystal?" he asked incredulously.

Flynn nodded, squinting at it. "Yeah."

All at once, the light disappeared completely, sucked back into the small crystal before either of them could say a word.

Dell leaned down to look at the now innocuous crystal cone that rested in Flynn's palm. "Has…it ever –?"

"No."

"Have you ever seen –?"

"Not that bright, no."

Dell stood straight and slapped the shotgun onto the magnetic spine of his armor. Scratching the scales on the back of his neck, he stared down at the freshly killed geth. "Why did this geth want it so badly?"

Flynn slowly shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the crystal in his hand. "I have no idea."